Map of The Problematique
by Glaukopis
Summary: Season 5 and slightly AU, Cameron and Thirteen kiss at a Christmas party and the aftermath effects. Not too good at summaries but just read and comment, if you will.
1. Chapter 1: The Bet

**Map of The Problematique**

_For Rabidnar_

Christmas. A time of celebrations and of festive get-togethers that mark the ending of the year. It also marks the start of many sessions of inane conversations to come, which makes you wonder if you should prepare a list of deflective answers for the season. You drink deeply from the glass of eggnog, tasting the bitter aftertaste that follows while half wondering to yourself what your co-workers might have placed in the mix when the rhythmic sound of a tapping cane behind you catches your attention.

"So…how many of the nurses here have you slept with?"

You know you could grow to hate these offhanded questions because, despite the tone they are expressed in, you know that there is always nothing but sheer petulant immaturity behind them.

After looking down at your cup for a moment, you give him a sidelong glance as he comes to stand beside you. "And how is that relevant to _anything_ tonight?"

House shrugs, giving you one of his nonchalant and innocuous looks. "I'm just looking out for my employee's health, you know," he says with a small lilt at the end, almost too pleasant to be true. "Just in case there might be a herpes outbreak or something."

You accord him with a long and baleful look before barking a short but derisive laugh. "None of your business."

"2? 3? 5? 10?"

"House!" you admonish him sharply before drinking out of your glass again and swallowing deeply.

"Ah ha! I knew it!" He tosses his cane up in the air and grabs it in triumph before turning to face you again while walking backwards. "You just made me $20 richer."

You keep the stony look on your face till he rounds the corner and disappears from sight. Internally, you know his assumptions could not be further from the truth. However, you also know that if you had given him the wholesale truth – he still wouldn't have believed you or trusted you. _Everybody lies_, you hear him echo in your mind. So, why not just let him arrive at his own assumptions and perpetuate the myth? After all, it has worked fine for you so far.

Peeling yourself from the corner, you make a beeline for the eggnog again. As you pour yourself another drink, someone else approaches you from off to the side.

"Hey." The voice was is light and familiar but unexpected. You look up with widened eyes.

"Hey," is all you offer to her. Allison Cameron. The head of ER. The one you supposedly replaced. _The nice one_, you remind yourselfas you feel yourself stiffen awkwardly. How many times had you brushed past her in the corridors, intentionally trying to irritate her on behalf of House and stolen patients from the ER? _Too many times._

"I saw House talking to you." She reaches out to grab a tart from the buffet table next to the eggnog. "Is he making trouble for you again?" Her question comes with a side look that speaks of a mix of concern and curiosity towards you.

You shrug as you take your own plate and slip your glass into the holder. "He was just being…House." You pick a tart from the same dish that she did, keeping the blank neutrality in your voice.

The pause between your words seem to catch her attention and she turns to flash you a sympathetic smile. "Don't let him get under your skin. He likes to do that."

You give her slight smile in return. "I know," you answer before drinking out of your cup. You swallow and then glance at her again. "Thanks."

"No problem," she replies as she reaches over to fill a cup with eggnog before the two of you walk away from the table in an awkward silence, which you quickly try to break.

"I think Kutner has gotten to the eggnog," you mumble out of the side of your mouth as you take another long gulp from the glass.

Cameron's grin widens. "Does Cuddy know?"

"Doubt it," you mutter as you tilt the cup at the angle, swishing the contents in the cup. "You should try it," you say noncommittally before picking up your tart to nibble. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch her as she takes her own cup and gives you a long speculative look. Offering her a lifted eyebrow in reply, you watch as she takes a sip before her face scrunches up and coughs at the harshness of the drink.

"How do you drink something like that?" she asks as you drink calmly out of your glass again without a change of expression.

"You just drink it," you say with a small, amused smile.

Cameron shakes her head as she puts the cup down on the nearest tabletop. "Remind me to stay away from the eggnog next year."

"You should try Kutner's usual mix," you offer dryly as you drink from the glass again.

"Look what we have here!"

You jump a little as the familiar voice of Gregory House booms behind you, causing your hand to shake and the contents of the cup to spill out slightly.

"A nervous lesbian and a blonde hooker together!" he announces. "Does this count as a potentially compromising situation?"

As you turn around, you steel yourself with an angry look toward your boss. Glancing past him, you notice Kutner and Taub looking similarly guilty at the interruption. With the two of them directing accusatory looks and gestures at House's back, you find yourself rolling your eyes at their immaturity.

"Mistletoe, anyone?" House continues on in the same tone of voice.

The mentioned parasite promptly appears between his fingers and is dangled above you and Cameron. You find yourself narrowing your eyes in an unimpressed manner and ready yourself to walk off while Cameron appears relatively nonchalant.

"Is this your way of trying to get us to fulfill your fantasies?" you ask pointedly without masking your growing irritation.

"Of course. After all, Christmas is about fulfilling one's dreams, right? Besides, Christmas is never Christmas in my home without some girl on girl action." He makes a plaintive face in Cameron's direction. "Spare a thought for the poor, lame man."

You eyes fall on Kutner as you notice how stiff his arm seems to be attached to his side, occasionally jerking sporadically. You notice how his fingers seem to be making a series of signals at you. Face bland, you stuff your hand in your pocket as Cameron takes on House's banter.

"So are you going to kiss or not? Don't keep this poor, old man waiting!" House says as he shakes the mistletoe like a bell. You try to block out House's words as you look at Kutner again and try to decipher what's he's telling you.

_200…._ You try not to frown as you watch his index finger points to Taub and him and realize that the two of them had placed a bet against House. You reply with a dirty look, which instantly invokes a sheepish grimace from Kutner.

"For God's sake, House!" Cameron replies with her arms crossed in front of her chest. You can't help feeling a glimmer of admiration by how calmly the older woman seems to be taking.

"How about her?" House asks, nodding at you. "The dying girl? Isn't that up your alley?" You snap back at that mention and you watch Cameron flush and place her hand on her hip in anger.

Turning slightly, you confidently reach out to grab the older woman's arm.

"Well?" House quips, giving the both of you an arched eyebrow while still holding the mistletoe in the air

You turn her towards you and smirk at her surprised look.

"Dr. Hadley!" she exclaims.

"Kiss me," you whisper as you gently tilt the other woman's chin towards you. You lean forward then stop short. "Trust me on this."

Cameron's eyes look at you quizzically for a moment and you can sense her struggle as her shoulders stiffen defensively. You're about to shut your eyes as you lean in to close to deal. Instead, your eyes open in surprise as she pressed her lips on yours, pushing you back.

In the background, you hear Kutner going, "Yes! You owe us $200 each, House! "

"That's not supposed to happen!" You can hear the aghast in his voice but don't really care. After all, you have just made $200 from Kutner and Taub, and manage to be kissed by Allison Cameron.

___________________

**Notes:**

i) This piece would not have come to fruition without Rabidnar's help, beta-ing and encouragement.

ii) I'm not too sure if I might continue with this yet but we'll see.

iii) This is my first fan fiction. *wince*

iv) Reviews and Comments will be appreciated.

v) Thank you for reading!


	2. Chapter 2: Trust

**Map of The Problematique**

**Part Two: Trust**

Remy

_Trust me on this._

The words burn your conscious like a brand. You can't stop mentally replaying what you saw in her eyes that night when you spoke those words. The searching look that scoured across your face and softened just as the smirk melted from your lips into tentativeness. When was the last time you actually said those words to anyone? _Not in the last five years_, you mentally reply to the rhetorical question.

You know you could always blame it on the alcoholic eggnog. Together with a dozen of others lining outside the diagnostic office braying for Kutner's blood, for whatever compromising situations they found themselves in after consuming the aforementioned intoxicating brew

"I mean, they can't pin all the blame on me!" You hear Kutner whining for the godzilliionth time as his lower lip sticks out in a pout. "How was I supposed to know that Cole and Nurse Badgely had the hots for each other and were going to in the open?" Kutner looks over to you and Taub for compassion to which you simply roll your eyes dismissively.

"Suck it up, Kutner," you comment wryly as you lean back in your chair, smirking as you idly pick up a magazine. Compared to Cole and Badgely, the repercussions of your act were, by far, insignificant in severity. It all came in the form of Benjamin Franklin. An enigmatic three quarter portrait of Ben Franklin on a piece of legal tender that is burning a hole in your pocket with its weighty connotations. A $100 bill that is part of your reward for your collaboration with Kutner and Taub. The bearer of the next most pressing issue in your mind – how would you pass it over to her? Slip it into her locker with a post-it note? Pass it to her via a nurse? Or give it to her personally? You don't know why but, somehow, despite your experience at kissing and leaving, the last option seems most forbidding.

"Where's House?" Taub's question brings you back to reality and away from your reverie.

"Most likely giving Cuddy a hard time for cable TV," you grouse from your end of the table as you go through the magazine with certain amount of boredom.

"Or not," House calls as he sticks his head into the room and looks at you all. "I would have bet that you would have taken the day off to spend your ill gotten gains," he snarks as he limps in, tossing a stack of files onto the table with a thump.

"Differential Diagnosis!" he growls. "30 year old male, health nut, swears he has never smoked in his whole life. He suddenly starts to feel weak and dizzy on his morning jogs. Go!"

_____________

Like many times, you are glad for the way House pushes you to solve each case. The process always feels like you're head-butting a wall painfully, rebounding and doing on repeat. You know you enjoy the challenge and the heightened pressure that pushes you beyond your limits. _Fighting against Father Time each day at a time, _you think ironically as you look through the microscope again in spite of the throbbing pressure building up between your temples.

"Do you think they would poison my food if I buy from the cafeteria?" Kutner asks distractedly as he sorts through blood samples.

A deadpanned "Yes" is heard as you and Taub simultaneously look up from your respective microscopes and reply in unison.

"But I need lunch," Kutner mutters to himself as he gives you two hard looks.

You ignore his look and go back to your work as Taub quips, "Then you might want to reconsider any future plans of eggnog making."

"Strike one!" House bellows as he troops into the laboratory. "Melioidosis is out. The patient is now showing signs of delirium." He turns to face you with an unerring look, which only bespeak of trouble. "Thirty One!" House calls with flourish as he finds himself a chair to settle in. "Have you decided how much of your dirty money you would be sharing with that call girl of yours?"

You can't help but stare at him blankly, half wondering to yourself how he got wind of your complicity in the bet.

"I hear $100 is the going rate these days." House gives you a wide open, earnest look, hoping that you might just allow for something to leak through that unfazed visage of yours. "Though it might be more for virginal-looking do—gooders."

"Tests came back negative for drugs in his system," you answer as you slide him a file containing your findings and neatly evading his questions with a huff. "His co-workers are not exhibiting any symptoms of environmental poisoning."

House goes through the papers flippantly before looking up. "Does this mean that you're giving her all of your winnings?"

You offer him a lifted eyebrow in reply before Foreman butts in brusquely, "What kind of delirium?"

The craggy doctor gives Foreman a dirty look for the interruption before answering out of the side of his mouth, "He thinks he's on the football field." House turns to look at you pointedly "Freud would have a field day with your Oedipus complex."

----------

Later on, you're not sure how you ended up at this club except that you followed where your feet and heart took you. _Another day, Another saved._ Your thoughts run sardonically in mind as your hand tightens around the tumbler in your hand. You bring it to your lips and tip it back in one practiced motion. Your face retains the blasé façade as the back of your throat burns in reaction to the drink. Placing the tumbler down on the bar, you wait for the warmth to emanate through your body and also together with the fog and euphoria that would come after.

Over the years of bar hopping, you have given yourself an education in alcoholic beverages and you know just what and which drinks and mixes would bring you to the state of euphoria or numbness that you need. However, tonight is not like any other nights. You would be celebrating your win over House except it means nothing to you. Your jaw tightens but you know it is the truth – just as how solving today's case is another way for you to get high on the rush and temporary elation before it leaves you bone-dry and empty. However, you can't help contrasting this emptiness with the knot that you encounter every time you think back on the kiss, what you said that night or what you think you have to do to make good on the bet.

You glance at the glass in your hand, watching how the lights of the disco ball dance off the edges and fragment into multiple shades of colour across the table top for a moment before tapping it on the side to get the female bartender's attention.

"Another one," you call over the thumping music of Moby to the grungy looking punk behind the counter, thinking that you would be all set to hit the dance floor after this drink. "Here." You turn back to find an empty shot glass – something that you did not order, placed in front of you. You look down at the salt-rimmed shot glass and slice of lime on the side and back at the nonplussed bartender who casually pull out a bottle of the best tequila and proceed to fill up the shot glass.

"I didn't order this," you say calmly without moving to stop the bartender.

"I know," she says with a grin, nodding towards her left. "Chick there with the nose ring? She said you might like it." The pouring pauses for a moment as the bartender looks up at you before speaking again, "Don't mind me saying." She leans in conspiratorially and whispers just so you can hear her, "If you're not going to hit on her, I'm going to."

You smile and offer a shrug as the bartender moves away. Suavely, you pick up the shot glass and cast a look over towards the blonde woman indicated by the bartender. _Cute._ You think as you hold up the shot glass in salute and receive a similar salute from her. If not for the nose ring, she would have looked like someone you know. _Cameron_, you hear in your mind and immediately squash it with a savage turn of your head. Without a care, you quickly lick the salt around the rim, knocking it back with flourish before biting deeply into the slice of lime.

The subsequent intense flush of heat to your cheeks and burst of flavour in your mouth herald a strange wakefulness as you find yourself moving towards the blonde after you finish the drink.

"Hey," you say as you offer her a small smile. "Thank you for the drink."

Her eyes run up and down your slender form as she nods approvingly. "It was my pleasure."

You know the steps too well and she isn't that bad looking. Some moves in quick, jerky motions and others, like you, prefer a slow and tenuous build up. "I'm Remy," you say, playing by the unspoken cardinal rule of no last names and no nicknames. After all, 'Thirteen' is a sobriquet used exclusively by the ducklings and House.

"Jacqueline," she offers as she smiles confidently, daring you as you take the opportunity to close the gap between the two of you and lean in.

"Would you like to dance?" you ask, knowing her answer to your question before you pose it out to her.

"Sure." She takes your hand as the two of you hit the dance floor.

Amidst the crush of bodies and throbbing music, your hands brush against each other's bodies several times. The first few times could be incidental as you note as you both move to the rhythm of the music. However, as the night wears on, your hands find themselves entangled with hers, just as your bodies press against each other with nothing but the fabric of your clothing to keep you apart.

"Your place or mine." Jacqueline gasps, after breaking from one of the many heated kisses. The urgency in her voice is undeniable and just as yours as you rasp hoarsely, "Yours."

_________________

Notes:

I started writing this with the initially intention of exploring the after effects of the kiss and realized that it had much to do with what Remy said. I'm sorry if this has taken a strange turn but I'll try to get to it. Also, last week was hell week for me and thus, a delay in the completion of this chapter.

Is there anything you would like to see? (Other than Cameron and Thirteen get together – it'll come…eventually.)

Props to Rabidnar for Beta-ing! You should check out what she has written!

**Thank you** for the reviews! I will definitely try to keep up.

**Pink Jover****:** Yes, the title is derived from Muse. I really suck at titles and it was just playing.

**Seeking:** Beta readers and plotters.


	3. Chapter 3: The Fissures

Chapter 3: The fissures 

Cameron

_For all who made this happen._

Audaciousness. Impulsive audaciousness. That is what you have been trying to explain patiently to Chase for the last 10 minutes. 10 minutes of precious time that you both have as individuals outside the hospital. 10 minutes of time that you want to spend productively with Chase on a dinner date at an Italian restaurant.

"It was impulsive," he agrees readily with a nod. "But why did you have to kiss her in front of everyone just because House made a stupid bet?"

Yes, why did you kiss her? You find yourself searching for the words that would capture all that you felt for or that could explain or exonerate your actions. Was it because of the comedic sheepish guilt that you saw in Kutner and Taub? Was it for that one more chance to thwart House's best-laid plans and assumptions? Or that one sliver of time where you looked into Thirteen's eyes. _Trust me on this_, you hear her whisper again. Except you realize that at that moment, her eyes no longer had that guarded façade that she exhibited on all other occasions, and that she meant every bit of her words.

"You could have just walked away and leave him to his own games," Chase grumbles as he picks up a forkful of linguine.

You look down at your dish and suddenly feeling rather tired of trying to defend yourself. "Well," you say as you inhale a deep breath. "I was just taken by surprise."

Chase looks up at you and reaches over to touch your hand, his fingers resting lightly on the back of your hand. "Allison."

You somehow know what he is going to say next and instead, try to skip forward and lighten up the atmosphere by saying, "Don't tell me you're jealous."

"Me?" He replies and is taken aback as his hand leaves yours. "No. Why should I?" Chase tries to laugh it off and you can't help smiling because every time he says 'No' with that Australian accent of his, it comes out sounding like 'Nnnnouuaaaa' with the elongated vowels.

"I just..." he says and shrugs, "wish he wasn't so dodgy."

Your smile widens as you speak. "Since when have you known House to be non- dodg-y?" Despite all your months of dating, you never got the hang of the Australian vernacular and your attempt to use that word makes him smile as well.

Chase swallows and dabs his lips with the edge of his napkin. "True." He picks up his glass of water again and drinks from it. His face takes on a thoughtful look for a moment before he looks to you and speaks again. "Maybe House is just being jealous of what we have."

"I wouldn't be surprised if he is," you quip and laugh softly at the inanity of the matter before taking a bite of your dinner.

"So, tell me, who is the better kisser?" Chase asks humorously as he leans forward on the tablecloth with a smirk on his face.

You feign outrage at his question with an offended gasp. "Chase! How could you?" You try to hold that note of indignation in your voice but find yourself laughing as he does. However, deep inside you wonder if he could hear the same thing as you did – a faint tremor of discord in your laughter, the lightest touch of falseness that lingered ominously in your mind.

"You are," you whisper as you reach up to cup one side of his face with your hand, trying to convince him of your sincerity while pushing those niggling doubts into the furthest recesses of your mind.

He turns slightly to kiss your hand before looking at you. "I love you."

"So do I." You whisper with your smile staying on your lips but somehow, unable to shake off the cold tremor of insincerity that ran up your spine.

--------

In the dark house of the morning, you find yourself awake as you turn over to watch Chase slumber peacefully next to you in his bed. Your eyes drift across his features for a long moment before you reach for the hand he has thrown carelessly over your waist. Your fingers dance lightly across his wrist as you pick up his hand like it is made of fragile glass and set his hand in the bare space between your two bodies.

He doesn't stir or even make a sound.

You watch him for a moment longer before softly sliding away from him. Your feet make a soft thudding noise as they touch the floor before you rise from the bed and reach for the robe you left hanging on the coat hanger earlier. Pulling it on, you quickly tie off the sash and slip your feet into his slippers before making your way out of the room.

As you leave the room, you can't help but take a look back and marvel at how quietly content he seems to be in the recently vacated bed. You also notice the little things that have somehow migrated here over the last half year or more – the nightgown, the extra clothing in his dresser - the pair of shoes, the extra toothbrush in the bathroom, your watch, the framed photograph of you both together and your pager on his bedside table. Comparatively, you think about how he comes to your house on those nights with everything packed in his messenger bag without any complaints.

Shutting the door behind you, you make your way towards the kitchen and carefully pick up a glass to fill with water. Sipping carefully, you take your glass of water to the living room and settle down on the couch. Staring at the silent television for a moment, you take another drink of water and swallow with a gulp. Your eyes drift away from the blank screen to the mantelpiece, where the photograph of you two at some random barbeque occupies the prominent centre position.

Pulling the robe tighter around you over your woolly pyjamas, you take a deep breath and feel all that transpired during the evening has left you exhausted and empty. The worst part is being unsure of the reasons why. You have always thought of your decision to be part of House's team as the one of the few deviant decisions you ever made and that the decision to leave his team was an attempt to right all that was wrong in your life. In that one swift motion, you threw your lot in with Chase. _Not because he needed fixing,_ you remind yourself. _Not because…_

Or was it? You take another sip from the glass of water and swallow with a quick gulp before setting it aside on the coffee table. Pulling your knees up and lying down on the couch, you think that being on the couch was more comfortable than being in bed with Chase. It is the little stirrings of thought that keep you awake and staring at the living room ceiling. The little voices that plant the seeds of discord in your mind, about how you seem to just go through the motions in this relationship, about if he loves you more than you do to him, and if so, why?

Even more jarringly, have you ever loved him or was it just a natural follow up from that night of experimentation?

______________

**Author's Notes:**

i) Thank you all for your kind responses to my earlier chapter. This chapter would not have been made possible without your help.

ii) My deepest and sincere thanks go out to all the beta readers who are stepped forward. Thank you so much. This chapter was edited by the following: **Rabidnar** (Go read her stuff!), **PinkJover**, **fuckitall **and **Dominus Umbra**,

iii) I know it's slow going between Cameron and Thirteen but seriously, they are just starting out. In fact, they seem to behave like grannies on walkers in my head. ;)

iv) Reviews and comments are welcomed.

**Thank you for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4: Double or Nothing

**Chapter 4: Double or Nothing**

_Cameron_

The Emergency Room is always a hustle and bustle. In fact, it is this frenzy that served as a factor in your decision to take up the position as Head of the department. After all, years of fellowship have inevitably moulded your life patterns to the point where you wonder if it would even be possible for you to work at any pace but this. True, you have told Foreman that what you miss most is "people doing whatever it takes to get things done" but the flow of patients in the ER is no less intense than the flow of tests done in the diagnostic department.

As the front line of the hospital services, you do whatever it takes to get things done as well – except in the ER, it means doing what you can to keep them breathing and to keep the hospital from being swamped with too many patients. There is no time to deconstruct a patient's lifestyle, to analyse or to speculate on each of the symptoms but to act, to staunch, to triage and to keep them alive before you send them off to the right wards.

On days like these, you find yourself grateful for such franticness especially since it denies you that space to think about everything that passed through your mind and the guilt that you feel for leaving Chase's apartment without a note or waking him to say goodbye earlier this morning. In fact, you half expect the blonde Australian to be looking for you every time you look up from a chart and you know he would ask about your furtive departure.

Lunch, however, is a different game. While you are grateful for the chance to rest your feet in the cafeteria, you can't seem to find the appetite to finish the woeful blueberry bagel on your plate. Instead, you try to distract yourself and keep people at bay by pretending to concentrate on the latest crossword in the newspaper.

"You sure you don't need a banana bag?" A familiar voice pipes up above the others and you glance up to see Kutner and Thirteen in the lunch queue with their trays. While the contents of Kutner's tray seem normal, Thirteen's tray contents seem to be laden with carbohydrate heavy foodstuff. "I'm sure I know of some nurse who can get you one." Kutner continues with a bob of his head despite the scowl that flashes past Thirteen's tired face.

"What? And let House make comments about dragging an I.V. with me like baggage?" She mutters pointedly as she reaches out for a baked potato.

Your eyes flicker back to the crossword, knowing that what Thirteen said wouldn't be true. Rather, the banana bag would earn Cuddy's attention first, before House got to throw more pointed and probing questions about Thirteen's off-duty activities. However, you can't help but eavesdrop on the duo's conversation that seems more interesting than the crossword in your hand.

"I mean," Kutner starts, "you look like you need it." He shuffles along, picking up a kid-sized juice carton, "Oh, look! They got Captain Kirk on this!"

"Kutner," Thirteen growls under her breath, "I don't need a banana bag." She reaches out for a muffin and puts it next to her sandwich, "I just need food..." Thirteen replies in clipped tones as she looks over her shoulder and her voice trails off.

For a moment, you wonder what might have caught Thirteen's attention and you look up briefly from the crossword. While you are a smidgeon late, you manage to catch her looking quickly away from your general direction and Kutner's facial expression as he follows Thirteen's glance. "Oh." He mutters as he too looks away belatedly before leaning forward to whisper loudly, "You still haven't…" His sentence is immediately cut off by the frosty glare that Thirteen gives him.

"Oh." He mutters again.

You feign nonchalance as you return back to the cross word, reading clue #59- _One in a million_. Whatever they are up to, you're not sure if you want to know. Part of you wonders if House had set something up to ask you – like, for another patient or a particular cable television channel.

Apparently, you don't wait long to find out. No sooner had you finish the word, you spot a figure standing at the side of your table.

"Dr. Cameron." You look over the edge of the newspaper to find Thirteen standing there with her full lunch tray. "Dr. Hadley." You greet her with equal formality and feel somewhat self-conscious given that you have not spoken to her since the party.

"Mind if I join you?" She asks tersely before looking to the side of the canteen where Kutner has absconded with his lunch.

"You're more than welcome." You say as you fold the newspaper and set it aside, wondering why only Thirteen is here, and not Kutner. To your knowledge, the ducklings move together and are not prone to divide and conquer.

The younger woman quickly sets her tray down and settles into the seat across from you. Eyeing the contents of her tray, you quip good naturally, "That's a lot of food."

"Yeah." She looks down at her tray and shrugs, "I'm just hungry." Thirteen offers crisply. You watch her as she picks at her sandwich box tensely. Deep inside, you know you would rather wait for her to speak her mind before giving your appropriate response but the muscles of her jaw seem more taut than usual and while you have heard of rumours of her partying ways, her haggard face seems to earn her sympathy in your books. "Is something wrong?" You ask casually as you pick up your own bagel, "Did House send you out to get a patient again?"

"No." She answers as she stops fiddling with the plastic box and sets it down. Thirteen reaches into her pocket, fishes out a $100 bill, and holds it out to you despite the blank look you give her.

"Kutner…" She pauses and nods in his general direction, "Kutner and Taub had a bet going with House at the Christmas Party." Thirteen inhales before speaking, "That you would kiss me."

Realization floods you as you feel your cheeks flush hot with embarrassment, "Oh that." You say with an awkward laugh and toss of your head.

"I'm sorry if it caused you any inconvenience." She replies, with a mini smirk at the thought, "I promise I wasn't trying to take advantage of you," Thirteen holds out the bill, "and this is your share of the winnings."

_Would it be that bad if you had?_ You find yourself startled by that errant thought and try to cover it with a soft chuckle, "Well, I promise I wasn't either." You say just as she grins along with you. "At least now I will have something to tell Chase." You quip good-humouredly, noticing how her grin vanishes at the mention of Chase.

"Yeah" She shrugs as you take the money from between her fingers.

"Does House know?" You ask while holding the money up, "He might just make you pay him back through Monopoly."

"He does." She mutters with a shrug, "Not that I care. Kutner always loses in Monopoly anyway." She picks up her fork and starts to stab into her pasta.

"Should I even bother asking you what he calls me now?" You give her a bemused smile at her sudden guardedness, "Your little 'hooker'?"

Her fork wavers in midair as she looks up at you sharply before speaking, "My little call girl, actually."

"Well," You say as you match her grin, "can't say I like leather and trashy clothing all that much."

"You wouldn't need them." Thirteen remarks somewhat on an impulse as she bites into her lunch, "Leather and trashy clothing, I mean." She quickly adds after the curious look you give her. Internally, you wonder if that was an unintentional slip on her part, and you are troubled by the possibility that it might have been otherwise. After all, you two had just begun to get to know each other.

"Oh well," You sigh as you set the bagel down and slip the money back into your pocket, "thank you for the cash. House needs to be taken down a peg or two sometimes." You pat your pocket just as your pager goes off. With a toss of your head, you pick up your pager and frown as you click it.

"The ER calling you?" Thirteen asks as she reaches for her napkin to dab along the edges of her lips.

"Yeah." You look at her apologetically, as your eyes follow her hand to drift along the contours of her lips, "I really should get back." You make yourself look away from her as you tuck a lock of hair back behind your ears. _Why on earth…_ – the question burn in you uncomfortably as you look back to her.

"Sure." She shrugs casually, "I know how it goes. It was great talking to you, Dr. Cameron."

You pick up your tray and give her an absent nod, "Allison." You reply with a friendly smile, "Dr Cameron can be a mouthful- too many syllables."

Thirteen looks up at you speculatively for a long moment before speaking, "Allison, it is then." She smiles broadly as you adjust the contents of your tray to balance it out.

"Can I call you Remy then?" You ask mildly – after all it was a fair exchange and you wonder if it will send the other woman back behind her own walls, but, to your surprise she simply nods – albeit belatedly.

"See you around then," you say as you turn to leave, "Remy."

* * *

**Author's Notes**

i) My love to the following beta readers**: PinkJover**, **fuckitall, ****Dominus Umbra**, **Amazon Life** and **Shananigan**.

ii) This chapter marks the end of the backlog. I am currently working and planning new material and I was wondering what do you guys think so far? Do you think it's a little too heavy going?

iii) Also, if you're interested in my really random thoughts about writing, I can be found on twitter under **glauk0pis **

iv) Reviews and comments will be appreciated!

v) Thank you all for reading and putting up with my stuff!


	5. Chapter 5: The Unforgettable Fire 1

**Chapter 6: The Unforgettable Fire (Part One)**

_Remy_

Sloshed, but not drunk. That is the state you are in. Or rather, that is the state you _think_ you are in. If Dante had his 9 circles of hell mapped out according to the levels of intoxication, you would be somewhere in the fourth or fifth circle.

_Concentrate_…you tell yourself as you put one foot in front of the other and amble down the street. The day at the hospital had been brutal. The patient you had been working on – a young 16-year-old single mother- had no hope in surviving despite your best efforts to fight against time and diagnose her ailment. _Multiple organ failure._ The worst part of it all was when House sent you to deliver the news to the patient and her parents. _The test results came back… _you hear your voice echoing in your mind again as you remember trying to put your best professional demeanour while watching the family deal with the news.

Despite leaving the hospital, you can't shake off that helplessness you felt at that moment as you waited with the family for Death to claim the patient. It felt like Amber all over again and you don't know which is worse – the void that comes with every patient who walks out of the hospital doors alive or the failure that comes with every patient that dies in your care.

_What does it feel like to know that you'll die within the next three days? _ You stop in mid-step and look up at the sky; _can it be comparable to a slow and degenerative death within the next 8 years?_

The drinking started early. In fact, you had driven yourself straight to a bar and left your car there. The bar is one of your favourites – a smoky joint located at the cross junction between the genteel and the shady. You start straight with the hard drinks instead of pussy footing around the cocktail list. After knocking back your fourth consecutive Whisky green tea, you notice the concern look coming from your regular bartender.

"I'm not serving you anymore drinks tonight, Remy." He says curtly as he serves you a glass of water, "I'll get you a cab and you better leave your car keys behind."

Grumbling under your breath about being a spoil sport, you shake your head at him, "'Don't bother. I'm just going to walk it off first." You hear yourself mumble as you pull yourself off the bar stool laboriously and back away slowly. "Thanks, Tom."

Of course, you know you're lying. It's just how you run your life. If one bartender refuses to serve you, you're pretty sure you can find half a dozen more who will be willing to put a drink in your hand. _Just like drugs… and sex._ And that is how you end up walking further on and away from the car. After all, you're just doing what you told Tom, _walking it off._

Night has since draped her wings over the landscape while you were busy knocking back drinks at Tom's. Despite the ensuing chilliness of winter, you continue walking down the streets while ignoring the groups of destitute people staring at you. At least, that was what you were doing till you nearly walk into someone who was moving something from the back of a car boot.

"Ooops," You mutter as you stagger backwards, "sorry about that." You are just about to sidestep and move on when the other person look up at you.

"It's –ok…" The person sets her box down and gives you a long look, "Remy?"

The voice is familiar but you are already starting to feel the numbing effects of whisky in your system as you fight to concentrate on maintaining the illusion of sobriety. "Came….Allison." Her first name comes to your lips as an afterthought. You smile, wider and friendlier than usual, "W…what are you doing here?"

Cameron dusts herself cautiously before answering, "Community service." She points to the derelict building behind you, "I come by every fortnight to deliver food." You notice how she breaks into her signature smile so easily – the same smile that greeted you at the cafeteria. "What about you?" She asks, her hand reaching out to stabilize you but it falls back to her side as you instinctively move to the side.

"Oh." You shrug and act as though you're fine, "Meeting a friend… up the street." You give a brief nod in the vague direction of the other end of the street, trying to mask the strange discomfort you feel about the white lie. _She doesn't need to know…_ Then again, the white lie you told Tom was just as innocent though you wonder why lying to Cameron would be so problematic. You stuff your hands in your pockets and comment out of the side of your lips, "This isn't a safe neighbourhood."

Cameron meets your eyes, the smile on her lips tightening a little as though she **is** moving to defend herself again the patronising tone in your voice, "I know." She takes a step back to pick up her boxes, "I come here often, remember?"

You wait for her to say something else and feel your hands balling up tensely in your pockets when she doesn't. "Ok." You let out with a sigh, "Do you need help?"

"Why, I thought you**'d** never ask." Cameron quip as she looks over her shoulders to give you one of those oh-so-winsome looks.

"I'm starting to wonder why House calls you goody two shoes." You mutter darkly as you move to pick up one of the boxes, "Clearly, he hasn't seen this side of you." The alcohol in your system seems to loosen up your tongue as you lift the box up with a grunt, "This is heavy!"

"You think so?" Cameron gives you an arched look as she picks up a box, "Come on, Hadley." She jokes, "Don't tell me you're nothing but a mushy snowball beneath that steely demeanour of yours." She leans in, sniffs the air a little before giving you a long look as though she has a question at the tip of her tongue but chooses not to articulate it.

"If I wanted physical exercise," you huff as you follow closely behind into the building and ignoring the look, "I wouldn't have taken up a profession that requires more than 60 manpower hours a week." You mutter as you two stagger up the stairs. "Not to mention the cranky, nearly perpetually politically incorrect and sexually frustrated boss that comes with it!"

The laughter that issues from her brings a slightly mischievous grin to your lips as she looks over her shoulder at you. "He's not –all- that bad." She gives you a bemused look as you both manoeuvre slowly up the narrow stairway, "And I pulled just as many hours." Cameron pauses as her face softens, "House is just… like that."

As you stumble up the stairs, you try to find a way to rebut all that she said, "Oh..," you gasp as you get to the third floor landing and wait for her to set her box down, "What do you—"Your words are cut short as your legs go soft from the unexpected exertion, causing you to tumble forward in your attempt to set your box next to hers.

Out of the blue, her arm slips deftly around your waist as she pulls you up and to her. At that juncture, the space between you both becomes negligible and the concerned look she has is briefly illuminated by the dimness of the corridor light. Your first instinct is to recoil from her and her direct gaze but her strong grip around you is strangely comforting and you find yourself relenting.

"Are you alright?" You hear her ask, her breath tickling your face as you belatedly realize that she is close enough to smell the reeking combination of smoke and alcohol on your breath and clothes. Close enough for the tips of your noses to touch. Close enough to make you want to tilt your head and just lean in. Close enough for your body to stiffen as you catch a whiff of her shampoo. _Vanilla. _You dimly recognize while forcing yourself to hold still as you wait for her to ask the question that loomed on her lips earlier – just so that you can brush it off without a care. However, she never brings it up and you find yourself feeling strangely crestfallen.

_I can't…_ "Yeah." You mutter awkwardly, trying to stop that surge of inexplicable emotions brimming to the surface and the regret you feel as her hand falls away from you. "I should get going." You turn to walk away from her, thinking she would too, but instead catch a glimpse of her face in a stairway mirror as she watches you move off.

"Hey." You say hesitantly as you stop in your steps but do not turn to look back at her, "I'll come around by later to see if you're okay, alright?"

You do not wait for her reply but instead, hurry down the staircase – a marked difference from the pace you set on your arrival. More than once, you feel as though you are fleeing from her as your breath catches in your throat and you taste the bitterness of the residual alcohol in your mouth. However, just as your feet touch the first floor landing, you hear Cameron call your name. You stop for a minute, half torn between returning up there and taking flight from all that is threatening to spill out from within you. At that point of time, you make a decision and leave the building hastily without a word.

* * *

**Notes:**

i) Special thanks go out to **fuckitall** and **amazon life** for beta-ing this chapter.

ii) I apologize for the long delay (and perhaps, brevity of this chapter) – life ate me up and spat me out over the last couple of months and I'm still trying to stay afloat.

iii) Reviews and comments are always welcomed!


	6. A Note to Readers

A Note To The Readers

Hi,

I wish I could bring some good news but unfortunately, this isn't it.

As much as I would like to continue writing for this story, I'm afraid that real life hasn't been all too well for me and thus, detracting me from writing more of this story.

Needless to say, I hate to end this on a sad note but I will still continue to try to etch out the next chapter in my free time. Hopefully this is just a phase that I am going through and I do hope that you wouldn't mind being a little more patient.

In the mean time, I hope that you all are alright and hope to hear from you guys.

Take care,

Q


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